And For What?

This is an email I received today from my friend John* currently serving in Iraq. I relate to this experience, though not the particular circustances - certainly the death of a friend is close in my memory. I'd just like to share it with you, lest we forget people are still dying for no reason. I guess CNN thinks a comatose anorexic is more pertinent to our world today...and for that matter so do 50-odd million Americans. Before I go I'd just like to give a big shout out....to the Masters of War and the people that put them in office, please accept my heartfelt and hearty....FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I lost a friend last week. We were on a security escort mission leaving Baghdad when his truck was hit by a roadside bomb (IED). I was gunner in the lead truck and he was gunning two trucks back in the rear of our three truck convoy. The IED that hit us was a platter charge. I platter charge is a very strong explosive, like C4, that is packed with ball bearings and designed to explode in a certain direction for maximum lethality.

I had known Hudson* since the first day of Basic training. Over time we became friends and were eventually stationed together at Ft. Hood in the same company. About a month ago I moved to his squad. It was pretty cool because we shared a lot of good times. He was a funny guy that would always cheer you up.

When it first happened I wasn't sure how bad it was. I was facing forward when I heard a tremendous explosion behind me. I won't go into details, but it was an experience that will never be forgotten. I can still see and here everything like it just happened. The destroyed Humvee, the fuel spilling onto the road, the chopping of the rotor blades as the dust off (medivac helicopter) lifted off. My father was a Vietnam veteran. I never understood why he would look a certain way when he told a story to me. It was like he was staring straight through the floor. I understand now. Some things stick with you.

The following day, they put my squad back out on mission. It may sound heartless, but that is the best way to get over things here. Continue mission and drive on. It didn't work however. I was useless in the turrent. I couldn't focus. I didn't speak. My mind was still going a hundred miles an hour. The next day they took me off mission. I spent the day trying to piece together my thoughts. I felt guilty. Guilty because I was the lead truck. My job is to see things before we get to them. Of course, I had to realize that it wasn't my fault but sometimes it's easier to blame yourself. Next were about a thousand what if's. What if this happened? What if we took another route? I drove myself crazy the rest of the day.

Come the following day, I was back on mission. My stomach was in knots before we left the wire (camp). When the Humvees started up my heart began racing and my palms were sweaty. I was scared. I've always been concerned with what happens, but this was pure fear. Fear of what waited for us. The attacks here are so random that at any time it could be you. You get a briefing at the beginning of the day before mission. It tells you about all the attacks in the past 24 hours. You listen, but that's about it. Those briefs have taken on a whole new dimension now. Each attack was on a real person. Just because I didn't know them doesn't mean it didn't happen, you know?

Anyway that day, I was still in a daze. Until a suicide car bomb detonated about 60 meters from my truck while I was downtown Baghdad. It's target was an Iraqi Army base. The bomber detonated in front of the Gates. My squad was stationary at an Iraqi police station. Chaos unfolded as shrapnel from the blast rained down on our trucks. A captain I was escorting wanted to go over and assess the damage. I hopped down from the turrent to pull security for him. We ran over there several minutes after the blast. I saw people crying. Iraqi soldiers carrying other soldiers. People yelling and shouting running everywhere. Several were killed and about a dozen were wounded including a little girl. The bomber himself was in pieces scattered in a large radius around the blast site. We had our medic help treat the wounded as the captain got information from an Iraqi officer. The re was a second car bomb on the way, but it never made it.

As bad as this whole ordeal was, it helped me out a lot. It snapped me out of my daze. It made me realize that no matter how you feel, you are still in Iraq and people are trying to kill you. It sounds pretty straight forward, but it really is that simple. I was numb when I walked through the scene. A saw everything, but there was no emotion. I was afraid of becoming some crazy war vet, but now they don't seem so crazy anymore. I've realized that shutting off emotion is a survival mechanism. I just hope I can turn it back on later. I hate this place. Not because of the people, but because of the person it forces you to become. Granted I know that this is no Vietnam, but some aspects of combat are universal I suppose. I have fear every day now. I've realized that it won't go away. Their tactics are getting better and there weapons are stronger. Last year a platter ch arge was barely a myth. Now they are becoming commonplace. It was inevitable. It's probably a good thing I'm afraid now because now I take zero chances. If I get a feeling, I react. If I'm wrong I'll deal with the consequences. The saying around here is, "I'd rather be judged by twelve than carried by six."

I know that this e-mail isn't the most cheerful one I've written, but it helps me to write. Kind of like therapy, I suppose. Also, I don't think that people back home realize what it is really like. Believe me, you can read a thousand e-mails and you still won't know like we do, but it helps. We don't want sympathy. We want empathy. Hudson* was a good soldier and a good friend. For those of you can't relate to the losses felt, remember Eric Hudson*. A great guy who passed before his time.

*Names Changed